The Black Smile
by Artichokie
Summary: Living in blissful ignorance, young Emmeline Vance sees no harm in the strangers leaning on the fence. In her naivety, however, she fails to see the calamitous storm looming on the horizon. How will she react when it finally tears down her walls?
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Notes:**__ This fan fiction has been posted here before under a different name. I decided to repost it, however, because the version that was up is no longer valid due to extensive editing it has undergone. I felt it necessary to update it. If it sounds familiar, that is why. Anyway, I have split the story up into five parts. At the moment, it's over nine thousand words long. I don't think anyone wants to sit in front of a computer and read that much in one sitting._

_Remember: If you read, please leave a comment. It's always nice to know where and what I need to improve._

**Embers of the Past**

_Part I_

Sunlight beat down onto the ground, melting the individual colors into one blistering gold shade. The wilting spring grass swayed back and forth in the cooling breeze. A lack of rain that year and the brief dispense of a caregiver for the fields allowed them to fade just enough for them to appear hopeless. Patches of green and wildflowers, however few there were, gave the area hope.

The distant green hills helped to soothe the sting of the gold-brown color of the ground. It allowed a human to stand upon it and give it a small smile. No, hope was not completely lost on the fields.

Birds chirped in the trees surrounding the swaying grass. Loud, calm calls of a wild bird echoed between the blades. It was a serene sound, teetering on obnoxious. It didn't bother the quaint butterfly that briefly landed on a purple wild flower. It seemed to ignore the sound as it tested each flower. Its vivid colors blurred together as its wings fluttered noiselessly. Finally finding a flower it liked, it settled cautiously upon its petals.

The butterfly flapped its wings once, twice, and then let them relax. The colors now exposed, the vivid orange and yellows would easily allow the insect to hide within the overgrown, wilting grass. Since it was not within the barriers of decaying grass, however, it was entirely noticeable.

A rustling in the grass caused the butterfly to stir and leave its comfortable perch. A young girl emerged from the grass and ran around the flower perch. The butterfly flew above her head, weaving slightly in the wind.

Her pale skin glowed in the sunlight, making her light blonde hair seem more white than yellow. A light patch of pink stained the smoothness of her cheeks, the sun leaving its mark. Her gray-purple eyes glistened with the joy she felt; a smile played with her child-size pink lips.

The girl wore a pink dress that flared out from her waist and reached her mid-calf. Her thin ankles were concealed by thick socks, which then disappeared into white sandals. The toes of her socks were stained with dirt and grass. The girl paid it no heed.

She stopped running amongst the flowers and looked up. Thick groups of clouds floated across the deep blue sky, but she seemed oblivious to their ominous presence. Her eyes focused upon the butterfly flying above her head, however still struggling in the wind. A loose strand of her hair flew into her face, but she didn't bother to brush it away.

"Butterfly," she said cheerfully, pointing at the delicate insect. Bringing her arm down, she giggled. She began to jump and down in excitement at finding one. The butterfly regained control and began flying towards the next patch.

The child immediately noticed the insect's actions and stopped jumping. Following the butterfly's movement, she began skipping and singing, "Butter, butter, butterfly!" repeatedly. Her voice was high in pitch and loud, yet clear. The only thing breaking the sound was her laborious breathing. The energy of skipping and singing made her voice sound winded. She didn't stop.

"Emmeline Vance!" a woman called out. "Emmeline, come on, sweet heart! It's time to come in!"

But the child didn't hear her mother's cries. She was too enthralled by the butterfly. Her singing blocked out any noise, save for the rustling of her dress against the golden grass.

The butterfly suddenly dropped from the sky and gracefully fell onto another flower. Emmeline stopped her singing and skipping to watch the insect. She walked slowly into the patch.

The butterfly rested on a flower on the opposite side of the patch, next to a fence post. Emmeline was not supposed to be this far out, nor had she ever. Fear suddenly clutched her small heart as she stared at the fence post. Her mother would be angry if she found out where Emmeline was, she knew it. _But Mama doesn't have to know_, Emmeline thought as she began to slowly walk backwards, back towards her home.

All thoughts of her mother's retribution was immediately forgotten, however, when the butterfly flew off of the flower. Emmeline giggled once more and ran towards the insect. She jumped after it as it flew higher. Her childlike soprano voice rang out as she resumed singing, "Butter, butter, butterfly!"

Without realizing it, Emmeline had moved closer to the fence. She continued jumping after the butterfly, her small hands reaching high into the air as if to grab it. Countless times she left the ground, hands high above her head, and returned to the ground with nothing but air in them.

One time, on her way back, Emmeline's foot became caught in her dress. Unable to put her foot down, she began to fall backwards. A feeling of fear invaded her joy as panic contorted her face. Her hands reached out before her as if to grab something, but there was nothing to latch on to.

A pair of strong hands reached out to stop her fall. Her back was saved from reaching the ground, but her bottom fell roughly onto the springy flowers. Emmeline let a small gasp escape her lips, expelled both for the shock of the hard ground on her bottom and for the hands on her back.

The hands reached underneath her arms and set her on her feet. Emmeline stared straight ahead, her mouth hanging open, as her mind tried to catch up with her. Slowly, she turned around and found she was looking straight at a wooden beam of the fence. Her eyes traveled upward and saw a pair of legs clothed in black cotton.

Higher they traveled, until she was looking above the fence and at the face of a man. He towered over her, making him appear to be a giant. Emmeline's mother had filled her head with stories about giants, and Emmeline didn't like them. Further observation, and the realization that the man before her was human, helped suppress her urge to scream.

The man had black hair and pale skin. The teeth exposed from between his smiling lips were crooked and yellow. The blue tint of his eyes made him seem almost friendly, but even young Emmeline could recognize the harsh glint in their depths. She took a step back, the fear she felt evident on her face.

"Ought to watch where you're going," the man said. His accent was strange to Emmeline. "Never know who could come and catch ya." Something about the way he said the words caused Emmeline to shiver.

The man turned his head away from her and said something. His lips moved, but Emmeline was not able to recognize anything he said. His speech reminded her of her grandfather when he was sick. He would always spit, clearing his throat with a _hauch_-ing sound first. He said it was to get the green goo monsters out. It had always made Emmeline laugh. She smiled now.

She turned her head in the direction the man was speaking. Suddenly, her joy and grin vanished as she realized the man was not alone. A boy, so Emmeline thought, leaned against the fence. One booted foot was planted on the lowest plank of wood that made up the wooden railing.

This male wore a brown hat that concealed his face in shadows. Wisps of black hair were pasted against his neck. His shirt was soiled with dirt; his nails were lined with brown. The arm that rested on the fence moved up in a gesture as he responded to the man in the same foreign language.

Instantly, both of their heads shot towards Emmeline. Briefly she thought she had accidentally said something and allowed her jaw to hang limp, but quickly realized they were looking over her. The first man turned to the one in the hat and said something. The hat boy turned and looked at her, a smile forming on his lips. Emmeline began to back away when the first man's voice stopped her.

"Emmeline?" he said softly. She brought her eyes up to his face, her jaw still down about her chest. "Emmeline Vance, that is your name?"

Unthinkingly, Emmeline nodded slowly. She didn't know how this man knew her name, but began to relax a bit. Maybe these men knew her father? They would be good men, then.

"Emmeline Vance!" her mother's voice reached her ears. She sounded worried. Emmeline whirled around and faced her house.

"Mama?" she said quietly.

"You better go to her," the man said from behind her. Emmeline turned only her head to face him and was once more afraid of these men. She could not mistake what she saw in their eyes as anything remotely friendly. The man pointed in the direction of her mother. She swallowed and took off running.

"Mama!" Emmeline shouted.

"Emmeline, where are you?" her mother shouted back, relief flooding her voice.

"Here, Mama!" Emmeline saw her mother. Her back was to Emmeline, so Emmeline ran straight for her. She collided with her mother's legs and wrapped her arms around them.

The child's mother, almost falling, turned and picked up her daughter. Holding her tightly, she began to plant kisses on the crown of the child's head. "Oh, Emmie," the woman sighed. "Where in all of Hades have you been, love?"

Emmeline leaned back in her mother's arms. "I was in the flowers! I saw a butterfly," she announced.

"A butterfly, you say? Was it a big one?"

Emmeline nodded. "It was real pretty. I tried to catch it, but it went too high."

"You didn't go by the fence, did you?" Emmeline tensed; her mother felt it. A frown fell upon her lips. "Emmeline Vance, did you go by the fence?"

Tears pooled in the child's wide eyes. "I didn't mean to! I only wanted to catch the butterfly. I thought you would be happy if I did." Tears were now streaming down her face. "I'm sorry, Mama, but I almost caught it! But I fell. But the big man helped me not fall so hard. He—"

"Man?" Emmeline's mother suddenly looked anxious.

Emmeline nodded. "There were two"—she held up two fingers—"but the big man helped me."

The woman looked up towards the fence. Both men were still there, watching the mother and her daughter. The one wearing a hat raised one arm and gave her a small wave. The other smiled at her. The child's mother returned the smile and nodded in response, but couldn't help feeling afraid. She had felt the same way when she went into the market earlier. It was a small town, surely, but they couldn't know the truth of their existence yet.

Could they?

"They were nice," Emmeline said, causing her mother to glance down at her. "But they talked funny. Are they Papa's friends?"

"No, Emmeline," the woman said in a breathless tone as she turned towards their small house. "Listen, Emmeline. I don't want you to go near that fence again, you understand?" The fence was the only way to protect Emmeline from the evils surrounding them. Or, at least that is what she thought.

"Yes, Mama," the child replied dejectedly.

"And I don't want you talking to those men again. They're bad men." The child's mother opened the back door to their home and stepped inside.

"But, Mama, they were nice!" Emmeline protested as she was set upon the scarred wooden table.

"They were _polite_, love. Those men don't like our kind." The woman turned to the stove and stirred the cooking pasta. She let go of the spatula and watched it stir itself for a second. She then turned to the counter and started cutting tomatoes. "I don't want something to happen to you. You cannot trust them, Emmeline. Didn't they scare you? You can always tell when someone does not like you by the way they smile. You cannot trust those with a black smile. Are you understanding, Emmeline?"

"Yes, Mama," Emmeline replied quietly. But she did not understand. _A Black smile_, the child thought as she played with a splinter on the side of the table. She didn't know what a black smile was.

A thought came to her that made her shudder. _Maybe it was like the red smile of a clown!_ Emmeline thought. She pictured the first man with black make-up smeared around his lips as he smiled at her. Emmeline didn't like clowns. She saw one last month at the circus. Her parents had to take her home because she wouldn't stop crying. No, clowns were scary, she decided.

Emmeline glanced out of the kitchen windows and stared at the men. They were still there by the fence. She could see their lips move, but their eyes were focused in her direction. She shivered; they frightened her. Whatever this trust thing was, Emmeline didn't think they had any. Alls she knew was that trust was a good thing, and these were bad men. _With black smiles._ She ignored her earlier connection of them being good.

The image of the man with a "black smile" resurfaced in her mind. She decided then that she did not like them. Then, another thought scared her.

"Mama?" Emmeline asked.

"What is it, Emmie?" the woman asked without turning away from the stove.

"How come people don't like us?"

"Because we are different."

"How are we diff'rent?" Emmeline continued to watch the two men.

"We have . . . powers they do not."

"Is that bad?" Emmeline glanced at her mother.

Her mother turned from the counter, putting off the remaining tomatoes' doom. "They don't approve of our kind. Magic is something that scares them, love."

"But why?"

The woman paused and stared thoughtfully at her daughter. Unable to come up with a response, she shrugged and turned back to the stove. "Ask your papa, Emmie."

"Does he know?" Emmeline turned her attention to the men outside. The man in the hat threw back his head in laughter. Slapping the laughing man on the back, the other turned away from the fence and walked away.

Calming the laughter, the man in the hat glanced once more at the house, piercing through the glass. Emmeline thought if he were her kind, he would probably break the glass with his glance. Emmeline felt the weight of his gaze on her before he turned and followed his companion into the trees.

Emmeline barely heard her mother's response. "Yes, your papa should know."

Somehow, Emmeline felt he wouldn't.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Black Smile  
**_Part II_

"Did something happen today that I should know about?" William Vance asked as he swiftly walked into the bedroom he shared with his wife. The sun had set a few hours prior; a solitary lamp in the corner of the room was lit, sending a soft glow throughout the area. He found his wife standing in front of the only mirror in the room. One hand held an antique hairbrush while the other hand's fingers slid through strands behind the brush.

William walked over to her and stopped just to her right. He leaned one shoulder against the white wall and folded his arms over his broad chest. He studied his wife with avid interest as he waited for her answer.

She really was a lovely woman, albeit a little plain. Her hair was a deep golden color with little waves of texture. The only time she let it hang loosely was in the privacy of their bedroom, just before they went to sleep. He wished she would wear it like that during the day, just so he could see if it truly did sparkle in the sunlight as he thought it did. Of course, that was wishful thinking on his half. She had always been self-conscious about her hair, never letting anyone really view it.

Her skin was pale with delicate pink patches on her face. The woman never wore makeup; she was too laidback to care about the stuff. Her eyes were a brilliant shade of purple dimmed with grey speckles, the same color as Emmeline's. William was grateful Emmeline had received those from her mother; his eyes were a dull and unattractive hazel hue.

Joan Vance's brush snagged on a tangle and she winced. "Is Emmeline in bed?" she asked as she roughly tugged the hair free.

"Yes," William replied, not changing his stance even though impatience was all-but consuming him. He knew something had happened today; he could feel it in the air. The littlest thing could provoke him into anger tonight, he realized. His day hadn't been pleasant, and nearly all of his tolerance was depleted. He wasn't in the mood for his wife's evasive games. "She fell asleep almost the instant her head touched the pillow."

"Good." Joan turned away from the mirror and walked into the bathroom. William heard her set down her hairbrush on top of the sink counter. Letting out a hissed curse, he followed his wife and stopped in the doorway.

"Joan," William said sternly, "you're avoiding my question."

"I'm . . ." she hesitated. "It's not deliberate, I promise."

"Then, what is it?" When he did not receive an answer, he slammed his hand against the doorframe. "Dam.n it, woman! You know I hate it when you do this!"

"I'm trying to think of _how_ to tell you!" she yelled.

"Think faster," he said between gritted teeth. She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Instead, she tugged her bottom lip between her teeth and started to softly chew on it. Her eyes remained focused on the wall in front of her. He sighed loudly, "I'm the man of the house; it's my duty to protect my family when danger arises. How the hel.l am I supposed to do that if you won't tell me what goes on?"

Her eyes snapped to his. "Well, you don't have to yell!" she snapped. Her high-pitched voice collided with his anger, and he suddenly felt ashamed. The look on his wife's face--utter and obvious fear--caused a pain to stab into his gut. That didn't help is attitude any, however.

He normally wasn't this rude, but his emotions were riding high as of late. He could sense the danger that was growing stronger around him, but he couldn't control it. He couldn't see it, didn't know where it was coming from. He only knew it was there. He felt helpless, almost trapped. Whenever that thought penetrated his mind, his control ceased to exist.

He closed his eyes briefly and took in a deep breath, calming the urge to rush her into an explanation. "I'm sorry; I shouldn't have shouted," he said, his gaze still resting on her.

"It's all right, William," Joan said as she pushed past him. William turned and watched his wife sit upon the edge of the bed. "You just need to work on controlling your temper."

William bit the inside of his mouth in order to quell the urge to retort. Although he agreed with that--especially recently--he'd always disliked his wife's habit of utter honesty. He respected it, yes, but it grew tiresome especially when she used that berating tone she'd just adopted. At least once a night, she zeroed-in on one of his flaws--and he had many he openly owned up to--and gave him a piece of her mind. Tonight, he just wasn't in the mood for it.

_Ha!_ he scoffed. _As if one could ever be in the mood for it._

Their marriage wasn't one made in love but respect. They had been childhood friends, never anything romantic. Neither had expected her mother--her only parent after her father had died when she was young (an even he'd been around for, unfortunately)--to fall ill as quickly as she did. And no one expected her to express her wish for their marriage on her deathbed. Neither had really believed in love at the time, thinking it messy and overly complicated. Respect was an emotion both was willing to work with.

The couple had wed six months after Joan's mother's funeral. Emmeline had been born nearly a year later. _That_ had been an awkward process, William reflected.

Shaking his head clear of his thoughts, William took a step towards the bed. "I said I was sorry; what more do you want from me?" Again, he received no answer. Choking back the urge to growl, he rubbed a hand through his light brown hair. "Why won't you tell me?"

"I'm trying to," she squeaked.

There was a pause before he said, "But . . .?"

"But . . ." she tried to continue, but failed. Her eyes rested on his face, unshed tears glistening in their depths. A choking sound came from her throat just before she jumped to her feet. "It frightens me, William!" she sobbed. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his chest. In return, he enveloped her in his arms and held her close, absorbing her tears in his work shirt.

The sight of her tears was like water to a small flame. No matter how frustrated he was, when her tears started to fall he wanted nothing more than to soothe the pain away. That's how it had always been, what had started their friendship to begin with. He couldn't bear to see her in agony.

"It frightens me so!" she said between sobs.

"Shh, sweetheart," he soothed as he rested his chin on top of her head; "it'll all be fine. Calm down . . ." His hands began rubbing relaxingly up and down her spine. My God, how he hated to see her like this! He may not love her as a man, according to most people, _should_ love his wife, but no woman deserved to be this distraught.

William picked her up and carried her over to the bed. He sat upon the mattress and settled her on his lap. With her arms still around his neck, and his wrapped around her waist, he rocked comfortingly. Within a few minutes, her sobs had subsided to silent tears.

"Feeling better?" He angled his head so he could watch her face. Her left side was pressed against his chest; her eyes were blankly staring at the wall. Reaching up, he placed his fingers beneath her chin. With the pad of his thumb, be wiped away the streams of her tears and then angled her head so she was looking at his face. "You ready to tell me now?"

She sighed. "It involves Emmeline," she began.

"I figured," he responded, giving her an understanding smile. "Otherwise, I doubt you would have reacted so hysterically."

"I didn't react hysterically!" she shouted indignantly. At his raised eyebrows, she let her shoulders fall down dejectedly. "Oh, buggar it, you're right. If anything were to happen to her, my life would lose its meaning."

"Gee, thanks." He gave her a false injured face. He knew what she was saying; he felt the same way.

"Oh, you know I didn't mean it like that!" she chided, a small smile forming on her lips. Her lips froze when she realized what she was doing, and then started again to form a rueful smile. She hugged him one last time and stood up. "I suppose I should thank you for that," she said as she wiped away remaining tears from her cheeks, her smile now made of light cheer.

"For what?" he asked, enjoying the friendly glow emanating from her eyes. He had missed that recently.

"The interlude of humor." She smiled. "There hasn't been a time since we moved out here that I've been willing to smile at nothing. I've been too concerned about you and keeping Emmeline safe and--oh! It's just a little overbearing sometimes."

"Well, as much as I'd like to maintain the mood, you really need to tell me what's happened." Her smile slowly faded and was replaced by a frown in her eyebrows. She folded her arms across her chest and walked over to the window. Nudging back the curtains with her shoulder, she stared out. Moonlight washed over her, making her appear almost ethereal. William sensed the fear and sadness once again engulfing his wife.

He stood. "Joan?" He knew she couldn't hear him. This was how it always worked; whenever she had to explain something she didn't like, she always escaped to her thoughts. William walked to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. He could feel the coldness of her skin through her plain, yet thick, nightgown. "Come on, just--"

"The men were back," she stated simply, her eyes not moving from the window. Her words threw him off-guard.

"Men?" he asked. "What men?"

"Those men we don't trust." She glanced back at him, saw his confused expression, and sighed. Closing her eyes and rotating her head back to face the window, she continued, "You know, the men that come to the fence and watch the house. The ones who sneer at you whenever they see you in town. The father and son pair--they live down the road."

William instantly tensed. "You said it involved Emmeline?"

"Yes." Her answer was barely audible. He waited for her to continue, but she never broke the pause. Damn her hesitancy! She had the nerve to make him dangerously worried, and now she refused to tell him the details?

He grabbed her shoulders and swung her to face him. Her slight gasp was lost on him. He just wanted to know.

"Woman, you best start telling me what those villains did to our daughter!"

"I told you to control your temper!" she retorted. "And I'm _trying_ to tell you!"

"You've been 'trying' for some time now." He belatedly realized he was being rude again. His control had snapped, however, and there was no use in trying to regain it until she told him. He knew this; she knew this.

"Shut up," she grounded out. "Every time I think of those men touching Emmeline, I go mad!" She squirmed out of his grasp, but didn't move away. His hard gaze trapped her to that spot. "It's hard for me to explain; you have to understand that."

"No matter how hard it is for you, with your evading the issue, it's twice as hard for me."

"I know. I'm . . . sorry." She offered a weak smile. When his face remained stern, her smile fell away and she looked at the floor. "Perhaps you should sit down."

He complied. They both moved back towards the bed, but, whereas he sat down stiffly, she stood--just as stiff--in front of him.

"Get to talking, wife," he all-but growled. She gave him a sharp look. She hated to be termed as that; he didn't exactly care at the moment.

"The men were at the fence again," she restated. "Emmie was out playing in the fields. She had gotten out when my back was turned. I had started making supper, you see, and forgot to check on her. You know how she likes to take afternoon naps. Normally she comes to me for a snack before she goes out."

"You should have been watching more closely. The kitchen and the back door are in the same room, for Christ's sake!"

"I can't help it if I've been a little distracted!"

"Your 'little distraction' could have resulted in our daughter's death!" His hands began to fist in his lap.

"I doubt it. If they had wanted to kill anybody, they could have done away with your entire family today. I didn't even notice they were there until Emmeline pointed them out, I was so distraught." He grunted, not offering anything more. Glancing at his delicate wife, she looked like she wanted to slap him. Part of him shied away from her in guilt for provoking her; the other half was grateful she was just as enraged as him.

However, most of his anger was towards himself.

"And where were you, Mr. High-and-Mighty?" she sneered. "You were late tonight. _Again._ Had you been here, maybe this whole fiasco could have been avoided!"

"Work ran late," he said uncomfortably. He wasn't going to add more. She didn't know the truth as to why they were living in the middle of the countryside, but, then again, neither did he. William was a member of a secret organization in the Ministry of Magic set up in order to seek out secret workings of dark wizards. With their activities becoming more frequent, more public--more _dangerous_--the minister had hand-selected a small group of Aurors to work in the department. If they found anything suspicious, they were to attempt to stop it.

The little town they were living just outside of mostly consisted of Muggles. However, there had been numerous reports of odd lights and sounds coming from the surrounding forests; in response, he had been sent out to investigate. Besides the animosity from untrusting and spooked Muggles, nothing appeared out of the ordinary. That was where his uncertainty of his mission came in.

"Of course!" Joan cried out in a mocking tone; "It's always about work! Your job better be compensating you for all of this overtime you're having to do. There may come a day when something truly _does_ happen, and you're going to regret ever coming out here!"

In some cases, he already did. He hated being secluded; he missed living in London. When he and his wife had arguments like this, he could at least go out and distract himself. Here? He didn't trust his neighbors enough to leave his family alone for one minute at night. He never questioned why he felt safer in the sunlight; he just did.

"Arguing is going to get us nowhere, as we both know well," he said as he glowered at her. "What role does Emmeline have to play in all this?"

She hesitated again, much to William's annoyance. Once she began, though, the words flowed out. She retold about what Emmeline had told her about the encounter, the men's reaction to her being there, her fear, everything. William listened carefully, not once interrupting. By the time she was finished, his anxiety level was higher than it had ever been before.

This assignment was getting out of hand, he decided. He had started an inquiry about the two men, but, so far, had only been brought back with positive reports. It had been said that they were an observant pair, closely watching the newcomers to the area. So, their watching the Vances's house hadn't been abnormal from their normal routine. Until his wife's explanation moments ago, he had thought them almost harmless. Now, he wasn't so sure.

He sighed loudly, getting the attention of his wife again. "How the hell do we explain this to Emmeline? She's already started asking questions."

Joan looked startled. "What has she asked you?"

"She asked why Muggles couldn't accept us because they don't trust us. Not in as many words, though."

She frowned. "She asked me the same thing," she replied in a quiet voice. Then, her eyebrows flew upwards and a smile started to spread across her lips. A small giggle escaped her throat. He knew why she was laughing; the hard questions were left to him.

"Thanks, Hun," he said wryly, a small grin starting to form on his face. He shook his head and stretched his arms upwards. He was tired, he realized. He was both physically and mentally exhausted.

She yawned and started to trek back towards the bed, the grin disappearing from her face. She was back to worrying herself, he noticed. Curling her legs beneath her bottom, she sat upon the bed next to him and leaned against his chest. He wrapped his right arm around her shoulders and held her close.

"They know I'm afraid of them," she said softly. His eyes shot to hers, wariness now evident in their depths. She sighed, "It was in their looks, a sort of smugness."

He gave her a comforting squeeze. "Soon, this will all be over. We can go back to London and continue living our old lives." He'd even tolerate his nosy neighbors if it involved being able to walk onto his porch without grasping his wand tightly.

"I'd like that," Joan stated, her voice tinted by sleepiness. Unconsciously, he nodded in agreement. "In the meantime, what am I to do about Emmie? I can't let her wander outside anymore, not with those men getting brazen enough to interact with her." She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, slowly exhaling it. "What am I to do?"

William had asked the same question many times in the last five minutes. Leaning down, he kissed the top of his wife's head and rested his cheek against her hair. She shifted into a comfortable position, and, before long, she was sound asleep.

He was staring at the wall in front of him, listening to his wife's deep, even breathing, when he muttered, "Pray the sun fails to shine each day." He closed his eyes and squeezed her shoulders once more. "If there is no sun, she won't go out."


	3. Chapter 3

**The Black Smile  
**_Part III_

Emmeline slowly opened her eyes, wondering at first if she had truly woken up. Her room was pitch-black; night had fallen since she had drifted asleep. The only light came from the moon dimly peering through the window on the farthest wall from her bed. A blue, almost sheer, sheet hung before it, acting as a curtain. For the most part, the sheet did the job. Emmeline couldn't see out to the tree just outside of her window. The only evidence of its existence was the jagged shadows it threw across the cloth.

A cricket chirped somewhere in the house, the peaceful sound echoing about the deserted corridors. Focusing on the sound that was lulling her back into her restful slumber, Emmeline slowly turned on her side, her eyes closing. She yawned sleepily and snuggled deeper into her blanket. One of her arms snaked out of the coverlet and felt the area before her. Realizing that what she sought was not there, her small eyes shot opened. She picked up her head off of the small pillow and glanced around before sitting abruptly up.

"Teddy?" she whispered to the room. Liquid started to pool in the bottom of her eyes as she glanced wildly around the darkness. She sat up on her hands and knees, feeling around the bed for the stuffed animal. Her quilt fell to the ground in the middle of her search. Still not being able to locate her beloved bear, large tears began to slide down her cheeks.

Emmeline nearly jumped off her bed in worry, her arms catching her upper body. Her hands and knees pressed into the rug covering the old wooden floors, splinters from the wood sneaking through the fibers of the mat. The child crawled around the sides of her bed, feeling her way through the darkness. She was frantically sobbing now, her tears leaving a trail on the fading colors of the old rug.

Finally, her hand landed on a soft object, her fingers curling into excess stuffing. Gasping, she immediately ceased her crying and grabbed a hold of the object. She picked it up and pulled it close to her face, examining it as if reassuring herself it was truly what she thought it was.

"Teddy!" she exclaimed as she brought the stuffed animal close to her chest. The toy was given to Emmeline from her mother on the child's first birthday. Ever since then, she would not sleep without the bear. What made it even more special to Emmeline was that her mother's scent was embedded in its fibers, a comforting aspect in times of turmoil.

She stood, still holding the bear close to her. "You scared me, Teddy. I thought someone took you away. But Papa would get you back if they did. But I found you, so it's okay." She grinned into the toy's fur. That smile was wiped away, however, when the gravel outside of her room crunched. In a jerky motion, Emmeline turned her face from the bear and instinctively glanced at the concealed window.

A shadow fell across the blue sheet hanging in front of the glass. It was the silhouette of a man with his hair sheared short and sticking out at odd angles. She froze, her mind telling her to go hide beneath the blanket while her body refused to listen. The man simply stood there, staring. Which way he was looking, Emmeline was unsure, but she had the distinct feeling of being watched. But that was impossible, wasn't it? He couldn't even know she was there.

She let out the air she'd been holding in her lungs, her shock finally leaving her organs. She lifted one foot to turn back to her bed, never letting her eyes stray from the dark shadow, but she froze instantly when the man began to speak, his head never moving. Her grandfather's coughing instantly came to her mind, and she almost smiled. Before she could, however, another thought struck her. Then, clarity bloomed.

_The men at the fence!_

Emmeline relaxed. She was still convinced that they weren't bad men. The fact that they were outside of her house in the middle of the night didn't strike the child as odd; part of her was still convinced they knew her father. Back in the city, her sire had many friends over at strange times at night. Still, Emmeline's brow creased.

_You cannot trust those with a black smile._

Her mother's words echoed through the child's head. She was immediately frightened again. Clowns floated in her mind, causing her small eyes to flare wide and her body to convulse in fear. The silhouette disappeared beyond her window.

Another shadow passed by her window, and she just stared. This one didn't pause. It was the next one that worried Emmeline. Like the first, it paused in front of her window. He was facing in the direction the men were walking; the outline of his crooked nose was evident. When he laughed, Emmeline's knees drew together. His laugh was high-pitched and brittle, much like that of a clown's.

Blindly, Emmeline raced to her wash area, holding the bear by its arm, and grabbed her stool. She dragged the small wooden piece of furniture to her dresser, the legs creating a dull scratching noise as it was dragged across the room. Stopping before the piece of furniture, Emmeline craned her head back and focused on an object sitting on top of it. _The light will take the fear away;_ it was what her mother told Emmeline whenever Emmeline woke up from a nightmare. The oil lamp was a comfort to the child when she was at her worst.

Stretching to her full height, she reached for the lamp and managed to move it closer to the edge. Unable to grasp it, she dropped her teddy and grasped the lamp in both of her hands. Stepping down off of the stool, she walked over to the bedside table across the room, the glass encasing rattling with every step. Gently setting the lamp upon the table next to her bed, Emmeline took a precautionary glance at the window at the shadow of the man outside of her window.

She watched his lips move as he spoke to the person next to him, his voice as soft as a winter night's biting breeze. He lifted a hand, his face seemingly turning to face her window again, and pointed directly at her. Stifling a gasp, Emmeline turned back to the lamp, more determined than ever to get the light to shine. She fiddled with the knob, eventually getting it to light. She retrieved he teddy quickly, glaring uneasily at the shadow as she passed, and snuggled upon the bed close to the light.

She dragged her blanket up over her head, leaving a crack so she could watch the iridescent flame burn the oil on the large wick. She shivered in fear as the men outside continued to talk in hushed tones. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore them. Unable to do so, she made her own noise.

"It will be okay, Teddy," Emmeline whispered urgently to her bear. "The light will make them go away. Then Papa will come and tell them to scare someone else. He always does."

With that final thought, the child was overcome with sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Black Smile  
**_Part IV_

* * *

"Emmeline," a voice whispered, interrupting Emmeline's dream. A pleasant dream it was, one that left a warm feeling even in her rising consciousness. She refused to acknowledge the voice, wanting to burrow deeper into her sheets. She rolled away from the voice, tucking her knees against her chest.

"Come on, sweet," the voice cooed. She recognized her father's dim voice even in her foggy state, and she let out a sigh. Remembering her father's habit of coming in to bid her good morning before he departed to work, Emmeline only snuggled deeper against the softness of her feather pillow, refusing to be completely awaken from her slumber.

A chill raced down her back, causing her to slightly arch her back away from the coolness. Reaching down blindly, she searched for the edge of her blanket. Her hand fell on top of the waistband of her pajama bottoms, her fingers grabbing onto the thin fabric. One eye popped opened and glanced down toward the end of her bed, her eyebrows coming together at the base of her forehead. It wasn't there. _But where was it?_

She was just about to sit up to search around her bed when she heard her father's voice, reminding her of his presence. "I can't wait for you to wake, love," her father mumbled as he scooped her up into his arms. He had no sooner finished the statement when his arms wrapped around her small waist. He hauled her up and leaned her against his chest, a single arm supporting her from below.

Emmeline had heard the panic in his voice, her mind coming wide awake at the abrupt motion. She knew something was wrong, could feel it in the air. Turning her head, she glanced behind her. Her bed was still the same, minus her blanket—she still didn't know where the thing had flown off to—and her room appeared to be normal, except…

Her father hastily rounded her bed and headed for her door. Just as he passed the foot of her bed, Emmeline had turned her head back to face behind him and spotted her bear lying on her mattress. Panic engulfing her heart, Emmeline struggled against her father's hold and managed to slip back onto the bed.

"Emmeline!" her father yelled, his arms trying to catch her as she scrambled across her bed. She was too quick, however, and easily evaded his grasp. Crawling to the top of her bed, she knelt and picked up her teddy. She ignored her father's hands as he moved to pick her up, her arms tightly wrapped around her teddy.

Once more tucked against her father's chest, her arms still holding her bear, Emmeline once more felt a prickle of unease. The air felt different… stiff and warm. There was a strange scent to it, like the smell of a fireplace burning brightly in the wintertime. Only this was more pungent, as if a dozen of them were burning at once in the same room. Emmeline took in a deep breath, but instead of slowly breathing it out, she began to cough. Her throat began to burn as her eyes began to water. No, this was definitely not a Christmastime scene as she was so lovingly thinking of.

That's when she saw it.

Her father stepped out of her bedroom and into the hallway that connected to her parents' bedroom. Orange and yellow flames crawled up the wooden walls and ate at the floor. Black lined the hallway ahead of the blaze, dark gray, billowing smoke nearly enveloping her father and herself. She choked against the dense air and the heat, her skin burning. She let out a wail in fright as panic-caused tears fell down her cheeks. Her heart was racing; her mind was numb despite the escalating temperature of the air around her.

Burying her face against her fathers chest, Emmeline wished she could wipe the images away. She wished it was all a nightmare, one that could easily be solved by opening her eyelids. She wanted the light to take the scary pictures away, but she didn't think she needed anymore light; the blaze itself was blinding.

Her body went stiff. The lamp. Where had it been when she had woken up? She couldn't remember. She didn't even think to look for it, the night's events a distant memory and rather inconsequential as opposed to now. But something else added to her fright, something painful and sharp.

A crash sounded from down the hallway. Emmeline's head jerked up to figure out the source of the noise when her father swiftly turned his upper body to do just the same. She heard him say a word she didn't understand, but she did know it was a word she wasn't allowed to say. Turning back to face forward, his pace quickened, and his arms tightened their hold on her. While it was once difficult to breathe, it was now nearly impossible. She pushed against her father's chest, but his arms did not relax. Emmeline didn't have the strength to fight.

Looking back down the hall just as her father reached the family room, Emmeline saw a billowing cloud of dust coming straight at them. She wasn't given a chance to really understand what had happened for the sight was soon obscured by the other side of the wall, this end still intact.

Closing her eyes, her head fell to rest against her father's shoulder. Small whimpers escaped her throat as her fear overcame her. She didn't understand what was happening entirely, and she didn't know what the future would hold. That, alone, was the most frightening thing to her little mind. Before she had a set lifestyle, and it seemed infallible. Everything seemed like it would always be there and never fade. She loved that lifestyle.

Now… something was happening, and she didn't like it.

Her father raced out of the front door and hurried down the porch stairs. He kept walking beyond, what Emmeline's mother had deemed, their front yard, gravel crunching beneath his feet. The forest loomed in front of them, Emmeline knew. It wasn't a thick forest; one could easily see gaps in the trees deeper into the woodland. Still, the trees were tall and the leaves blocked most of the sunlight from reaching the ground. Emmeline was forbidden from going in there, not that she ever wanted to at any rate.

Her father stopped at the very edge of the trees and gently set her on her feet. She brought her teddy to her face, hiding half of it behind the stuffed animal's head. Her father rested his hands on her shoulders, making sure he had her full attention.

"Stay here, Emmeline, do you hear me?" he asked sternly. Emmeline slightly nodded her head. "Do not go anywhere near the house. It's not safe." He leaned over and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. Emmeline's lips spread into a smile obscured by the teddy, her mind temporarily comforted by her father's affection. "I love you, dear Emmeline." Hesitating a single second more, William Vance turned back toward the house and walked away from Emmeline. A man ran up to greet him, joining Emmeline's father in his journey back to the house.

Without her father's looming presence blocking out the sight of her home, reality struck anew. Shock overcame her, her arms falling away from her body. Giant clouds of evil-looking, dark gray smoke billowed in the glare of the flames fueling them. Part of the house was completely masked by both flames and smoke. The scene was terrifying. Emmeline's skin began to crawl.

Emmeline stared at the flames escaping the roof of her home, her body stiff with distress. Her arms hung limply at her sides, her teddy hanging loosely from the folds of her right hand. Her jaw had fallen to her chest as she finally comprehended what was happening. Her heart racing at impressive speeds, only one thought floated into her mind: _Oh, no…_

* * *

******Please, tell me what you thought! Constructive or otherwise, I'd like to know. =]**  



	5. Chapter 5

**The Black Smile  
**_Part V_

* * *

The morning air was crisp and cool. The sun had just begun its ascent from behind the distant eastern horizon, bathing the land anew. The early birds were up, singing their songs and scouting for their breakfast. A light layer of dew glistened on the near-to-dead grass beneath a think blanketing of fog. The forest greens and grays in the background danced together to form an ominous cloud. A lonely cricket chirp sounded somewhere off in the distance; its haunting song echoed off of the land.

Small plumes of smoke still rose from the ashes. Black marked the area where the Vance home used to sit. Some walls still stood, but were considerably weak and flimsy. There was nothing left to salvage, nothing to save. One could see clearly through the front door to the land beyond. Nothing remained, only the memories.

Young Emmeline sat on a large rock next to the path that used to lead up to her house. Her arms were curled against her chest in attempts to ward out the cold. Her teddy was suffering from a headlock within the crook of the child's right elbow. Her feet were flat, bare, against the ground; her knees were bent in a right angle.

Two patches of pink stained Emmeline's, somewhat, pale cheeks. A light cloud of mist formed in front of her mouth and nose whenever she exhaled. Large tremors racked her small frame. She was cold-beyond so-but all she managed to do was watch.

She observed her father. He sat on his knees directly in front of the rubble. His face stared through what used to be the front entrance of the house. After he had put the fire out, with the help of their western neighbor (a man who had spotted the flames nearly a mile away), he had withdrawn. The neighbor-man offered them food, blankets, and shelter, but her father hadn't responded. The man left anyway.

He returned a little while after, his wife and daughter trailing after him. They had offered Emmeline bread, water, and a blanket. She consumed the bread and water, and sat on the blanket. She was too confused to do anything else.

Papa was crying, she thought glumly. He had started while the neighbor-man was gone. Papa had slowly walked up to Emmeline, picked her up, and held her tightly against his chest. She had a difficult time breathing, his arms crushing her to him as if she could erase some of his pain. She felt his warm tears fall upon the shoulder of her nightgown. When Emmeline had had enough of the lack of air, she pushed away from her father's embrace and he set her down.

Afterwards, he had walked to the charred house and stared out towards the fence. He reached into his wrinkled night shorts and pulled out a piece of paper. Her father stared at it for a long time, not saying anything. He never moved. Emmeline's eyes started to burn; she was mesmerized enough to forget about blinking. She could feel her father's pain flowing across the lawn. She didn't understand it, but her heart stung.

Before her eyes, her father had collapsed to his knees. A howl escaped his throat and echoed through the trees. Wolves returned the cry, their yowls sounded just as haunted as her father's, just as empty. Emmeline had shivered.

That's where he remained all morning. The neighbor-man had offered him a blanket and some nourishments when he had returned with his family, but Papa ignored him. The neighbor-man's family was now gathering up the larger pieces of debris.

Emmeline was still watching her father. She doubted he was still crying. Papa was too strong to give into tears for long periods of time. His stance hadn't changed. He still held the piece of paper and was still kneeling, but his arms had fallen to his sides.

A warm hand touched Emmeline's shoulder. She jumped and turned her head to look at the person. It was the neighbor-man's daughter.

The woman's bright blonde hair was pulled back and tied with a blue piece of cloth. Her eyes were a deep blue that nearly matched the cloth, but was as unique as the day sky. Her strawberry-pink lips were curved into a warm smile. The hand on Emmeline's shoulder fell away and disappeared into the folds of her faded green gown. She was leaning over, her eyes level with Emmeline's.

"How are you?" she asked, her voice soft and soothing. Her accent was familiar, yet disturbing. Instantly, the image of the men at the fence came to her mind. Emmeline was instantly wary.

"Okay," Emmeline replied meekly. She averted her eyes to her folded hands in her lap. Unconsciously, the child started rubbing them slowly together in unhidden apprehension.

"Are you cold?" the woman questioned, seemingly unaware of the child's inner turmoil. Emmeline's hands clasped tightly together and she shook her head in the negative. The woman sighed.

Emmeline watched the woman from the corner of her small eyes. She seemed nice enough, and her eyes didn't hold the evil spark like the men's had. She spoke like them, though. She didn't know if she could trust this woman. _But she doesn't have a black smile_, Emmeline reasoned with herself. Hadn't she also thought the men at the fence were nice, too? Hadn't Mother warned her against those men? Emmeline's small body shuddered in confusion and fear.

"Where is your Mama?" The woman's voice brought Emmeline out of her thoughts.

The fact was, Emmeline had wondered the same thing many, many times this morning. Mother had never emerged from the flame-engulfed house. Papa hadn't kept his promise-for once. She didn't know what to think about that.

The child had waited on the edge of the forest, waiting . . . watching. She listened for the sound of ruffling leaves and snapping twigs, signaling her mother's presence behind her. She felt for her mother's two arms wrapped around her waist, hauling her from her feet. She waited . . . and waited . . .

Nothing had come. Emmeline's anticipation was never fulfilled. She was left with a sense of emptiness she didn't know she could feel. She missed her mother. At that thought, she brought her teddy up against her chest and held it close. She buried her face in the bear's head and inhaled deeply. The scent of her mother was comforting, but did nothing to soothe the stab of unease now puncturing her stomach.

"Hmmm?" the woman, standing next to her, prompted. Once more startled, Emmeline quickly glanced up at her before returning her face to the bear's head. Emmeline shrugged her shoulders dejectedly. The woman eventually let out a long breath, stood erect, and walked away.

Emmeline returned to observing her father. What had Mother always said when Emmeline asked a question? _Ask your father, Emmie._ Would he tell her? Part of her said he would; another said he wouldn't. And a very small part of her felt she already knew the answer to her inquiry. She didn't allow that part to say anymore.

She stood and walked towards her father. She didn't know what she would hear; didn't know if she would hear anything. Standing beside him, she was almost certain he wouldn't say anything.

His face was pale and hard. Two wet marks trailed down his cheeks from his previous emotional exertion. Pale rose patches stained his bony cheeks; the pink was darker where the remnants of tears resided. His eyes were red, not very puffy. He hadn't been crying for a while, but he was exhausted. Emmeline could see that much, at least. She breathed in a breath that felt blisteringly cold against her dry throat.

"Papa?" Emmeline asked quietly, hoping he heard her. William didn't move to acknowledge her. The only movement in his rigid body was in his chest. His breathing was normal, but nothing else about his behavior was. Normally, he was most talkative, especially around Mama. Whenever they were together, his eyes lit up and his face was so full of emotion. She could tell, even in her young years, how fond they both were of each other.

Now, he was so bland. Emmeline didn't think she liked him like this. She wished for yesterday to come back.

"Where's Mama?" she voiced, just as cautiously as before. Like the previous question, she was met with indifference. Her papa remained unaffected. His eyes were glued straight ahead of him, into the black inkiness that used to be their home, and even beyond the rubble. Emmeline began to worry. _Would he stay like this for the rest of the day?_ she wondered. _Would he ever move?_

She glanced down and noticed his hand. Clasped between a strong forefinger and a thumb was the piece of paper he had picked up. It was crumpled along the edges and burned on one corner. It was a photograph, she realized as she watched the figures move across the canvas.

Emmeline froze. She knew that picture and knew it well. Her papa always took it out to watch it. The photograph was of Emmeline and her mother. It was taken this past Christmas, during the unwrapping of presents. Her mother was always laughing in the picture, always smiling, as she played with Emmeline.

An acute feeling of loss engulfed her as she glanced back at her father. She recalled his anguished cry when he'd found the picture, how he refused to move, even now. The same cry threatened to escape the child's own mouth.

"Papa, is Momma coming back?" Emmeline knew the answer even before she asked the question. Her father's sharp intake of breath confirmed her theory. At least he had reacted to her question this time, she noted. The relief didn't last long for another thought overtook her. Mama wasn't coming back.

It was all her fault, of course. She had gone against her mother's word and lit the oil lamp. Every night, when Emmeline was put to sleep, she would ask her mother to light the lamp. Her mother would refuse, saying it was only there in case something really scary happened. She lit it every time Emmeline experienced a nightmare, though.

She must have knocked the lamp over, Emmeline guessed. She was known to move a lot when she slept. A couple of times when she had kept a glass of water on her bedside table she had knocked them over. She would wake up and find it gone. When she looked down, generally the water was dried up, but the shattered glass remained.

She didn't think about that for long, though. All she could focus on was the shame now soaring through her mind. She could only feel the pain.

She knew it would never go away.

Something compelled her to ask, "Did I kill Mama?" out loud. She wasn't even sure she had said it at first; her voice was almost a whisper. But, she had said it-her father's reaction confirmed it.

He moved, then, sharply and suddenly. His head snapped to the side and focused on her. A look of pure disgust contorted his features. Emmeline mistook that look, thought it was directed at her. Tears began to build in her eyes, threatening to fall free. The shame wouldn't allow her to show her father her agony.

Dropping her chin to her chest, she gripped her teddy and walked away. She stumbled over to the rock she had recently been sitting on and sat down upon it. Her hands smashed the bear's head to her face and she leaned over. Finally, her tears fell.

She never once looked up again.

* * *

**Fin.**

**Please, tell me what you thought! Constructive or otherwise, I'd like to know. =]**


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